Teambuilding
by avocadomoon
Summary: Ravi and Liv, gettin' slizzered in a blizzard. Yuletide gift for luckydip.


"Merry Christmas," Ravi says dryly, not even bothering to look up from the corpse. "You're late."

"Traffic was nuts," Liv says. "Everyone running around, last minute shopping. I had to stop by Trader Joe's to pick up some stuff for Peyton and this lady almost ran me over in the - oh my holy God what is _that?_"

Ravi narrows his eyes as he stands up, holding his bloody, gloved hands aloft. "I told you we had a weird one."

"His head," Liv says faintly, "is not…"

"Nope!" Ravi says cheerfully. On the table between them is the poor unfortunate body of one Mr. Ronald Steffanholtz, excepting his head, of course, which is missing. In its place is the head of...well, Liv thinks it's a hog. Or she really hopes it's a hog, because the alternative is that there are monsters other than zombies that are now like, a thing, and Liv just isn't emotionally prepared to deal with _that_ on Christmas Eve. "It's a hog," Ravi continues, reassuringly. "He was a cop, apparently. I'm told that this was a rather blunt statement."

"Jesus," Liv says faintly, reaching out blindly for a pair of gloves. "Mafia?"

Ravi gives an exaggerated, uncaring shrug. "Clive didn't say. You're not getting queasy on me now, are you, Miss Graduated From Med School With Honors?"

"No," Liv says, grimacing at him. "I'm just - "

"Hungry?" Ravi clicks his tongue. "Yes, unfortunately Mr. Steffanholtz is off the menu for you, as his head has not yet been recovered. Although if you were willing to experiment a little, it is a fascinating question, whether or not the brain of an animal would sustain you in the same manner that a human brain does - "

"I'm not eating pig brain," Liv says flatly. "Also, it probably wouldn't do anything. Right? I mean, it's just meat, and I can't taste meat. Like I even tried caviar a few weeks ago at one of my mom's parties and it just tasted like unflavored boba." She scrunches up her nose. "With a weird aftertaste, now that I think about it. But that might've just been my mom's house in general."

"Caviar's an animal byproduct, not actual meat, isn't it? Wait, are the fish eggs fertilized?" Ravi shudders delicately. "Never mind, don't want to know. Anyway, you haven't tried an animal _brain,_ have you? Stands to reason that there's something specifically in the grey matter that makes the difference - no, don't bother, I already took samples." Ravi waves her off from the gruesome end of the body, towards the lab table where there are, indeed, a number of sample vials neatly labeled. "You get the grunt work today. Because you were late, and also because you didn't bring me a present."

"I got you a present," Liv protests, mildly offended. "I didn't think you'd want to open it _here._ I'm saving it for Friendmas Dinner tomorrow."

"Why wouldn't I open it here?" Ravi asks, genuinely confused by the question. Liv sometimes forgets what a morbid bastard he is - but it's fine, because he usually reminds her fairly quickly, usually in the presence of a dead body. "Just run the tests, I'll finish up with the corpse. If we hurry we can beat the weather."

"I thought it wasn't supposed to start snowing until late?"

"They revised the storm warning. We're under an advisory now; it's supposed to start any minute now."

Liv lets loose with a glum sigh, blowing her bangs up from her forehead. "Great." It's a Saturday, and also Christmas Eve, and Liv and Ravi aren't even supposed to be here, technically. But this case was one of Clive's, and he'd called and asked - pleaded, actually, apparently he needed the coroner's report ASA-fucking-P - and Clive's put up with enough crap from them this year, neither of them wanted to let him down.

There's also the matter of how Liv is supposed to be spending the weekend at her mom's, which she wasn't exactly looking forward to, but what she's looking forward to even _less_ is the extended guilt trip if Liv doesn't make it on time for cocktails tonight. As she plops her undead ass at the lab table, she considers asking Ravi to call Eva on her behalf - he'd do it, she knows he would. He'd come up with a great excuse, too.

"What do they call cops in England, if they're not pigs?" she asks idly.

"All cops are pigs," Ravi says casually. "Except for the ones we like, obviously."

Liv snorts, craning her neck over her shoulder to raise an eyebrow at him. "I meant - "

"I know what you meant, I was joking," Ravi interrupts. "Get it? I was saying, obviously we call them pigs in the UK too, but I was also subtly and cleverly expressing a political opinion at the same time - "

"Subtle?" Liv asks incredulously. "You?"

"I can be," Ravi says, "on occasion."

"Ravi, you _typed up a list_ of stuff you wanted for Christmas, because you didn't trust me to pick out something you liked for your present."

"Well, you have terrible taste," Ravi says, turning back to the corpse. "That's hardly _my_ fault."

"Uh huh," Liv says.

* * *

Ravi _had _given her a list, which Liv promptly ignored. Instead, she spent about a month anxiously walking through shopping malls and department stores, discarding dozens of perfectly good ideas because none of them were quite weird enough, quite smart enough, quite _good_ enough for Ravi. What she'd settled on, finally - a hardcover collector's edition of Dan Simmons' _Hyperion_ \- still didn't seem like the right statement she wanted to make, which was, of course: _thank you for risking your career and frankly also your entire life on my behalf, because while I know in the beginning it was mostly about proving your own theories right and also your crazy weird scientific curiosity by now I know it's more about me, because you take risks you don't need to take and stick your neck out even when you don't have to, because you're a good man and also, the best friend I've ever had. So here's a book, I guess. It's got a shiny gold cover._

A little inadequate, but the best Liv could do. Everyone else in her life had been easy: Major is a complicated relationship now, but remains an easy person to buy for, since Liv's been buying him the same fancy whiskey for years and he never seems to be any less excited to open it. Peyton likes lingerie - a weird thing to buy for a friend, but Liv _does_ know her cup size - and comically large bars of chocolate. Her mom likes jewelry, Evan likes Magic cards. And while she hasn't known Clive _that_ long, she's pretty sure the mildly snarky gift card to Liquor Mart with "sorry for my everything" written on the flap will be a hit.

She doesn't even know if Ravi _likes_ this novel. Maybe he's read it already and hated it, or maybe he's never read it before because he doesn't read, and all those nerdy, literarily intense books on the bookshelf in his apartment are just to help him get girls - Liv doesn't know. When Ravi does talk about his interests, or his life in general outside of their shared environment of the morgue, he sticks to video games - but mostly he does that because he knows it annoys her, and _that_ is definitely one of his favorite things to do. (Unfortunately, Liv could not figure out how to turn that into a Christmas gift.)

Christmas has always been, traditionally, a white-knuckle time of year for Liv, given her mother's...entire personality, but in recent years Liv has come to think of it as a time to show the people you care for why you care about them. An old tradition for Major, to remind him of better years (not a hint, seriously _not_ a hint), sexy chocolate for her oldest, truest friend (who sometimes needs a reminder to have fun, every once in awhile) - and now Ravi? The keeper of her secrets, the engine of her new (undead) life? The person who makes it possible to keep putting one foot in front of the other, who's constantly getting in her face, poking and prodding at her until she snaps out of her funk and remembers that she's still here?

No, a book really doesn't cut it. But maybe the special collector's cover will convey at least a portion of that sentiment. Liv's hoping, anyway.

* * *

"Are we seriously going to have to spend the night here?" Ravi asks, sounding already halfway resigned to it. On the small television in their makeshift break room (really: a couch in the corner, by the minifridge), a news anchor is joking about Santa's sleigh needing snow tires, while a bright red NWS advisory scrolls across the screen beneath his face. "That's so creepy."

"_Now_ you find it creepy?" Liv rolls her eyes. "We've done it before. You can take the couch, and I'll take the chair this time. But only because I didn't bring your present."

"Yes, by _choice,_" Ravi says, his voice raised to carry across the lab. "When it's forced, it's creepy. Not sure what's complicated about this."

Liv sighs, pushing the laptop shut with her elbow with (gentle) vengeance. "Well," she says, "the tests were conclusive, Dr. Chakrabarti: he's definitely dead."

"Mm, yes, quite dead," Ravi says. The body has long been locked away in its drawer, but Ravi's still bent over their second victim's head, which is somehow even creepier, separated from Mr. Steffanholtz's person. "This bloke's quite dead too, I'm afraid. Liv - come look at this."

Liv scoots up close, bending over Ravi's elbow, looking closely at the spot that Ravi's isolated with a pen light. "Is that...a surgical suture?"

"Fairly certain," Ravi murmurs. "Stitches are messy, though. Access to medical supplies, but no training - could be an intern, or a relative or spouse of a physician?"

"I'll add it to the report for Clive." Liv straightens up, wrinkling her nose at the smell. "Well, if I weren't turned off by pork before…"

"Speak for yourself, I'm starving," Ravi says, standing up too. His hands still suspended over the hog head, he squints across the room at the television. "Has it even started snowing? Have we checked?"

"Yeah, like an hour ago," Liv says, rolling her eyes. "Peyton just texted. She said the roads are already pretty bad. The temperature dropped pretty quickly; the interstates are solid ice."

Ravi shoots her a mournful look. "You'll miss your mother's delightful party."

"Woe is me," Liv says dryly. She grins to herself, a little deviously. "Guess they'll all have to talk shit about me _behind_ my back tonight, instead of to my face. They'll adjust to the change of pace though, I'm sure."

Ravi shakes his head, efficiently wrapping the hog head back up in its evidence bag, prepping it to be stored away in its own special cadaver drawer. Usually they put severed _human_ parts in those small compartments, but there's a first time for everything, she guesses. "It's remarkable that you're willing to see her at all, considering what happened at Thanksgiving."

Ah, yes. Thanksgiving. What had been intended to be a casual _Friends_giving gathering had been interrupted mid-appetizer by Evan, who'd taken off with Eva's car after a fight at home. Then of course their mother had made her appearance, and Liv and Peyton's nice, casual, catered dinner had turned into a four-hour, three-way blowout that ended in tears for _everyone_ (including Peyton). "Well, it's. Complicated."

"I'm sure." Ravi looks sympathetic, but in a sort of ironic way - like he's laughing at her on the inside, but he feels sort of bad about it. It makes Liv feel a lot better, weirdly. "I'm not one to talk. I haven't seen my parents in person in almost six years, let alone for the holidays."

Liv knows better to push, as much as she wants to. "What did you and Major have planned for tonight?" she asks instead. "Halo and hot chocolate?"

"Something like that," Ravi says, smiling to himself as he strips his gloves, bending low over the sink to scrub his hands. "Friendmas Dinner tomorrow night was going to be the highlight, I'll assure you."

"Aw." Liv smiles at him. "Well, there's...Hershey bars in the vending machine. We could melt them in the microwave and mix in some of that vanilla creamer you have in the fridge. It could be...pretty close."

"I appreciate the creativity, my friend, but." Ravi grins at her. "You should open your present now."

Liv raises an eyebrow. "You have it here?"

"Of course I have it here! I - well, just open it." Ravi rubs his hands together, jogging down the steps to the little breakroom nook in the corner. "If we're going to have a proper snow day - well, snow _night_ \- then there are a few things in there that will make the time pass a little more quickly." Brushing past her to the fridge, Ravi reaches inside and takes out the brown paper takeout bag that's been sitting in there for weeks. Liv raises her eyebrows. "Here."

"You couldn't even wrap it?" Liv grouses, trying to look grumpy, but she's sure her smile gives her away. "Ravi, did you finally make that brain-hot-queso dip recipe that you've been crowing about for months?"

"Less babbling, more opening," Ravi says, flopping down on the couch. His big, long, giant legs shake the entire structure violently; Liv is afraid that one day he's going to crush the poor thing.

"Fine." Biting her lip, Liv carefully peels back the tape on the bag. Inside is a small bottle of Bombay Sapphire - one of the fun travel bottles that Liv used to sneak into parties in her purse - and five or six shot bottles of Fireball, the kind you pick up in line at the liquor store (another classic sneak-into-the-cocktail-party bottle). "You got me...booze." Liv narrows her eyes at him. "Ravi, I can't get drunk anymore. Remember? We tested it."

"You can with this," Ravi says, grinning. He taps the Bombay. "At least, I'm pretty sure you'll be able to. I doctored it."

"You…"

"_Doctored,_" Ravi repeats, still grinning ear to ear. He picks up one of the Fireball bottles, turning it over so Liv can see a small yellow label, taped to the side. In Ravi's small, blocky handwriting reads: _Monique St. James._ "This one has a bit of that girl who made you all French and sexy, remember? You kept hitting on me, and you wouldn't stop quoting Audrey Hepburn movies."

Liv's cold cheeks heat up at the memory. "Ravi, oh my God - "

"Don't worry, I deleted those pictures," Ravi says, nudging her shoulder with his elbow. "This one's the artist bloke, and this one's that teacher lady you liked. And the Bombay…" He grins at her again. "_Yolanda._"

Liv gasps. "No!"

"Oh, I did. Wasn't easy to sneak samples away from you either - hiding food from a hungry zombie? Cheekiest thing I've ever done." He smiles at her, to take away any sting. "There's not enough grey matter to really keep you fed, of course, but the personality drift seems much more sensitive than the visions - you always keep the subtler personality traits longer than anything else, have you noticed? - and that's really what matters, in terms of getting smashed, innit? The alcohol does the work of preserving the brain samples - I _liquefied_ it, Liv, wait until I show you - and I'm _pretty_ sure that liquor still affects you, just minimally - you do remember that night out on Pioneer Square, don't you? Don't _tell_ me you weren't just as smashed as I was - so the combination will, I hope, get you halfway to tipsy." He pauses. "Either that, or you'll have another panic attack. So we should test it under controlled circumstances first."

"Controlled circumstances, like say, a snowstorm?" Liv asks. She looks down at the row of bottles in her lap, and finds herself tearing up, just a little. "Ravi, Yolanda was...months ago. At least six."

"Yes, well. You liked her quite a lot, and so I saved a small sample, because...well." He shrugs. "That's where the idea started, honestly. I was originally trying to come up with a way to preserve brain samples indefinitely, so you could have a...back stock."

Liv bites her lip, finding herself unable to reply. And all she'd gotten him was a _book._

Seeming to read the emotion in her silence, Ravi tactfully keeps talking. "Don't worry," he says, reaching over her again, into the fridge. "I have my own stash. Non-brained booze." He digs into the tiny, frosted over freezer compartment, and emerges with an airplane bottle of vodka. "One snowed-in Christmas Eve - coming up!"

Liv laughs, wiping subtly at her face while Ravi's attention is diverted. "You're either the smartest man I've ever met, or the kookiest. Probably both."

"I'll take that as a compliment." Nudging her shoulder again, Ravi raises one eyebrow. "What do you say, luv? Wanna get smashed and watch infomercials with me? We can start a new Christmas tradition."

"Ravi," Liv says, injecting every ounce of emotion she's feeling, in the dried up corners of her heart, "that sounds _amazing._ Yes."

"Wicked," Ravi says triumphantly.

* * *

Liv drinks Yolanda first, of course. A pediatrician from Vancouver, she was the only victim Liv had eaten (so far) that had made Liv feel anything like her former, living self: pragmatic, but with an edge of recklessness, stubborn, murdered at a party. The similarities had been rather pointed, at the time.

But what really made the difference was that Yolanda had loved to _laugh_. Being on her brain had made Liv feel...happy, for the first time in a long time, and drinking the Yolanda Bombay, straight from the bottle, wedged into the break room couch next to Ravi's lanky spider legs, Liv feels it all coming back, all at once. A sense of...peace, serenity, and a little bit of goofiness - a lot like Christmas, come to think of it.

"My sister once gave me a Dolly Parton wig," Ravi says. "Picked up from some tacky costume shop in Brixton. My mum loved Dolly, you see - couldn't say a word in front of the family. She knew it too - smirking at me the whole time."

"That's pretty bad," Liv agrees, smiling goofily up at the side of his face. "Mine's worse though."

"Oh?"

"My mother gave me an IUD when I turned twenty-one," Liv says. Ravi almost spews his vodka all over his lap. "I'm serious. She put a little certificate in a wrapped box, and I opened it in front of my brother and all my cousins. It had a little message like, 'one shopping trip with Mom!' or something cheesy like that, but as soon as we got in the car she turned in her seat and said, 'Liv, we're going to my OBGYN. I hope you're wearing clean underwear.' And I was so mortified I didn't even _say anything._"

"Good Lord," Ravi says, sputtering with laughter. "Did she follow you in? Tie you to the exam table?"

"I'd just moved in with Major, and she didn't want me to get pregnant!"

"She could've _asked_."

"No shit." Liv smirks at him over the lip of her bottle. "I think I win."

"I'm not arguing." Ravi shakes his head. "You know what I appreciate about you, is that every dysfunctional story I have, you've got one that's much worse. It really makes for a nice balance."

"Appreciate that," Liv says dryly. She leans hard against his shoulder, feeling the old fuzzy feeling that defined her first three years in med school. Turns out zombies _can_ get drunk, when drinking special brain gin, whipped up by their conspiracy theorist best friend. As usual, you gotta know people. "At least we didn't get our heads chopped off, and a hog's head sewed to our necks. Because _that_ guy's definitely not having a good Christmas."

"Clive thinks he was dirty," Ravi confides. "He didn't mean to let that one slip, but he seemed rather frazzled on the phone, when he asked me to push this one through. He didn't even seem to remember that it was Christmas Eve until I reminded him."

"Yeah, I mean he was into _something_ messy, that's for sure. Hard to miss that kind of message," Liv says, letting her head dip down against the point of his shoulder. "I'm fucked if he wants me to do my psychic thing on this one. Hard to have visions of your victim when you can't eat his brain." Liv pauses. "Do you ever say a sentence out loud that makes you reevaluate your life a little bit?"

"Almost every day since I met you," Ravi says, but he sounds fond, rather than bitter, and Liv smiles into his lab coat. "We'll finish up the report tomorrow. When I'm less drunk, and you're less Yolanda." He reaches down and taps her nose. "You're very sweet when you're on her, I should say. That sounded dirty, but I hope you know how I intended it."

Liv laughs. "Yeah, I know, Ravi."

Chuckling, Ravi leans down to press a friendly kiss against her forehead. "Well, if we had to be snowed in, at least we're in good company." Liv squints at the touch, smiling down at their feet, propped up next to each other on the small milk crate that doubles as their coffee table. "Merry Christmas, Liv. I'm glad I met you."

"God," Liv says muzzily, "you're unreal. I can't believe I got you a fucking _book_."

"A book?!" Ravi yanks himself away, causing Liv to almost topple over into his lap. "Did you just _spoil_ my Christmas present? I can't believe you!"

"I didn't tell you which book!" Liv cries, then deflates. "Great. Now I gotta get you another present."

"Did you even _read_ my list?"

"Fuck your list." Liv grabs his collar, yanking him down so she can kiss him on the cheek. His beard is scratchy, but he smells kinda nice - like vodka sours and aftershave, which is pretty impressive after a solid five hours bent over a mutilated corpse. That's the charming part about Ravi - that niche between 'creepy' and 'dashing' that he fits into so well. "I love you, is what I meant to say."

"Oh. Well. I love you too," Ravi says casually, like it's not an earth-shattering thing to say. And maybe it doesn't have to be, Liv thinks. "But you know we have to dissect the pig head tomorrow. Don't think this gets you out of it."

"Creepy," Liv says, falling back against the couch. Her head falls back to its place against his shoulder, and Ravi nudges her irritably, making her head flop around a little while he gets comfortable. Liv is way too Yolanda right now to care too much about it, though. "You know, my mom usually makes pork tenderloin for dinner on Christmas Day."

Ravi sputters another laugh, his head falling back against the cushion. He looks so dazed and happy that Liv's heart gives a little twitch of happiness in response, like she's accomplished something, just by making him smile. Maybe the gift doesn't have to say everything, she thinks. Maybe the gesture is what counts. "Gross."

"Tell me about it," Liv scoffs, still laughing.


End file.
